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May Rain
- University of Arkansas Press
- Chapter
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May Rain Evening at morning. Slow drip In the coffeepot, in the backwaters of the soul. No picnic in Eden, but cold toast. In the periodic table, what rare element Ranks as heavy as this weather, Blue as the weight of rain? There’s a reason the nervous system Feels so nervous—dragons prowling the bloodline, Dottle stopping the pipe. Faith in remission, I can’t pray Even to those strange saints who have something A little dark and hairy in the background, Or call on some minor prophet of the lesser rant With a nasty line in storms and slaughter, Whom the ravens refused to feed. Like ten-gallon oilmen in the West, I want my own Depletion allowance—I’ve almost gone From gush to null. You could fit my high ambitions under The shadow of a gnat And mourn them with a homemade hymn. 25 • • • What good is spring if it turns All seethy and irked, forcing the flowers To a bitter quarantine? The light here begins in candlewick, A small urgent flame Against a sky that pours out its misery. In this slant rain that warps the window And smuts the air, nothing Comes clean, And no thunder, no groan To shake the ground and make me tremble Down to the roots— Just this crosshatch of cloud That shades the day from dull to bleak And keeps the pressure on. • • • 26 ...